


Your Life Is Not Your Own. Keep Your Hands Off It.

by melancholyllama



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depressed John Watson, Depression, Greg Lestrade is a Good Friend, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Suicidal John Watson, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28759266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melancholyllama/pseuds/melancholyllama
Summary: A lonely war veteran with a psychosomatic limp, and a gun in a drawer in a bedsit. What can you deduce about that?
Relationships: Greg Lestrade & John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Kudos: 18





	1. John's On Drugs

**Author's Note:**

> Pls don't read if it'll trigger you. TW: suicidal thoughts, suicide (canon- Sherlock) and self harm (mentioned in chapter 3) The title is a Sherlock quote from series 4.

From the moment John H. Watson stepped through the lab doors, Sherlock knew he was suicidal. He also knew that it isn’t something you say during deductions and he’d learnt that the hard way. So, he didn’t say anything, opting to wait for John to initiate the conversation instead. Sherlock didn’t particularly worry about John in the months that followed, he never appeared to be in the same state as when they first met. By the time John finally brought it up, Sherlock had noticed his flatmate seemed less…less…less something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“What are they?” Sherlock asks, watching John pop two pills into his hand.

“Jesus! You scared me!” he cries as he nearly drops the packet. “They’re just vitamins.” Sherlock eyes him surreptitiously as he slips them back into his dressing gown.

“Who’s that?” John asks watching Sherlock’s phone flash. He shrugs. John reaches for the phone. “Mycroft, aren’t you going to answer?”

“It’s another boring case.”

“Fair enough,” John replies, padding away to his bedroom.

<>

When John leaves later for the surgery, Sherlock slips into his bedroom. Rummaging around his drawers, Sherlock can’t find anything. _That’s odd_ he thinks, John would never keep secrets from him. Wanting to pursue the case further, Sherlock sets off downstairs to question Mrs Hudson.

“What do you want?” she enquires, swivelling round with a duster in hand.

“Nothing.”

“Good because I am not your housekeeper.”

“Just a question.”

“Fine.”

“Is John ill?”

“How should I know? Ask him, he’s a doctor.”

“I can’t Mrs Hudson, that’s the point. Humans and their funny little brains,” he remarks wandering out of the kitchen.

The next day, a bleary-eyed Sherlock walks into John and spills his tea.

“Sorry.”

“‘S fine.”

“Had your vitamins?”

“What? Oh, yeah earlier.”

“Can I have some to mix with sulfuric acid?”

“No? Are you back on the drugs?”

“Course not!” suddenly defensive as he shows his track mark-free arms.

“Are you on drugs, John Watson?”

“Have you lost your mind?”

_John’s on drugs._

<>

“Brother mine, have you solved the case yet?” Sherlock slumps into the seat at Mycroft’s desk.

“No, boring. I need your help.”

“Oh, do you now?”

“Yes, _please_ ”

“No help until you solve the case.”

“Fine. The father stole it. The boy dug it up in the garden and is keeping it in his bookbag. There. Now, help me.”

“Thank you very much. What can I do for you?”

“John’s on drugs.” Just as Sherlock tries to comprehend the look on Mycroft’s face, the elder brother bursts out laughing.

“Really, Sherlock? Drugs?” he jibes while trying to regain his composure.

“Yes, he’s addicted to some sort of prescription medication. It’s fairly easy to acquire as a doctor.”

“And how have you deduced this?”

“He takes pills every morning and his mood improves. Then he hides them. Drug addiction.”

“Have you asked him what they are?”

“Yes, he says they’re vitamins. We need to stage an intervention or he’ll end up like I did, and he’s got a _normal_ brain.”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft snaps, “Listen to me, he’s not addicted to drugs. If you promise to call Mother, I’ll tell you what they are.”

“Fine, promise.”

“They’re anti-depressants, Sherlock.”

“What? No.”

“I have his medical records; he’s had them since his late teens.”

“John isn’t depressed.”

“Well, he must be addicted to anti-depressants, brother mine.”

Sherlock just scowls.

<>

Mycroft and Sherlock climb up the stairs just before 6. As expected, John chugs his tablets with tea as the brothers open the door.

“Fluoxetine or citalopram?” Sherlock questions.

“Sertraline. Mycroft, you’re a dick.”

“Yes, Mycroft, you are.”

“I’ve heard worse,” he calls as he shuts the door.

“We need to talk,” Sherlock announces

“You are aware we’re not in a relationship, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Just sit down.”

So, they sit and they talk and Sherlock promises to be there for John no matter what. Shame he can’t keep that promise.


	2. What's This?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and that. Sorry this is really late, my life is a bloody mess. Enjoy :)

Sherlock is dunking his fingers into a milky substance when John slumps down in a chair.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” John says, plonking his mug down on the table.

“What’s this?”

“Life.”

“Ok”

John looks puzzled. Sherlock just gets up and walks to the door. _Fuck he’s not coming back_ John thinks.

Sherlock strides back into the living room, holding a plastic bag.

“This is not an option”

“What’s this?”

"Suicide," he replies, pulling the gun out. John clears his throat awkwardly, definitely not expecting that. "Where d’you get that?”

“Sock drawer. I’ll look after it now.”

“You don’t need to...”

Sherlock places a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

<>

From: Sherlock

*We need tea. SH

To: Sherlock

-Ok. I’ll get some later.

-Why did you do that?

-You fucking left me

-I found your cigarettes. I miss you

-Don’t be dead

-Please

-You promised to be there for me

-I’m supposed to be dead not you

-I hate you.

-You’re a fucking bastard

-I don’t want to do this anymore.

-You said you’d look after me and you’re gone.

-I’m going to kill myself

*You don’t mean that.

-Fuck off Mycroft

*You really thought I wouldn’t monitor your messages. Don’t do this, John.

-Why do you care?

*You’ll regret it.

-No, I won't. I don't even know why I'm texting you. I wanna fucking die.

*You don’t mean that. Where are you, John?

-Out.

*I'll find you. Just wait, please.

<>

John genuinely isn’t expecting a black car to pull up on a dismal street in Peckham. As the door opens, John expects one of Mycroft’s men to climb out. The surprise in his tired eyes shows as the man himself pops his head out.

“Come on, get in” Mycroft ushers him into the car. John doesn’t speak, just shuffles into the car. He isn’t totally aware of his surroundings until they are back at Baker Street.

“...John”

“What?” he says looking up for the first time.

“Time to get out.”

"Oh, right," he mutters, undoing his seat belt. They both get out and stride through the dark to the front door.

“D’you want um tea?”

"You don't have to, John," Mycroft tells him as the doctor walks into the kitchen. As he opens the cupboard, Mycroft sees his face drop.

“We haven’t got any, he texted me and I haven’t bought any and, and,” The tears roll down his cheeks. Mycroft gently places his hand on John’s shoulder, pulling him towards the sofa.

They sit with Mycroft’s hand on John’s back for ages. Mycroft finds it deeply uncomfortable. The medic wipes the tears from his face messily.

"Sorry," he mumbles groggily.

“It’s...fine, John.”

“Will you be okay tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah. I mean for now, yeah”

"Please don't end your life, John." _Sherlock is alive_.

“Why the fuck not Mycroft? You don’t care.”

“You can’t predict the future, John. Why stop now and not find out what happens?” _Sherlock is alive._

“I- I... Fuck! I don’t know!”

“Have you got the gun, John?” He nods sheepishly. “Can I have it?”

“No! I mean I need it. I wouldn’t...y’know anyway.”

“I doubt that, John Watson. Steady fingers you had with the taxi driver. Hand it over please.”

“How do you know about that? I’m not giving it to you.” John stands up quickly.

“You don’t have a valid reason for having the gun. Please, John.” He shakes his head. Mycroft begins to stand slowly.

“I don’t feel safe without him here.” My slumps back into the seat.

“You promise me you’ll tell me if you’re feeling like this?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

"You matter, John Watson. Don't forget that." And with that, he’s out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Another chapter soon ish. Any comments welcome :)  
> If you are struggling (especially in UK lockdown), please talk to someone you trust. There is help out there and you deserve it.


End file.
